“Over there,” she directed Nat, who with hatchet in hand was making for the desired tree.

The particular tree was situated near a side path, quite close to the old mansion.  Dorothy left her seat and followed Nat, but Tavia remained behind in the car with Ned.

Suddenly they were all startled by a noise—­a shrill scream—­or perhaps it was some wild bird.

“Oh!” cried Tavia, “let’s get out of this creepy place.  Dorothy!  Dorothy!” she called, “do come along and never mind the tree.  I feel I shall die, I am so—­frightened!”

“You!” said Ned with a light laugh.  “Why, I thought you just loved ghosts.”

“Now, just stop!” insisted the girl.  “If you had gone through the scare before, as I did, perhaps you would not be so merry.”

Dorothy and Nat came toward the car.  They had heard the shriek, and could not understand it.  The tree still stood on its frozen mound and was likely to remain there, for one more night, at least.

“I was not frightened,” explained Dorothy, “but I heard you call.  Perhaps we had better go.  It is almost dark.”

“But I would first rate like to bag that owl,” said Nat.  “I believe I could teach a bird like that to talk English.”

“It certainly said some thing,” his brother added.  “Well, I suppose we will have to please the ladies and turn out,” he finished.  Then Dorothy and Nat climbed back into the car, and the pretty Christmas tree was left behind with the other queer things in Tanglewood Park.

CHAPTER VIII

A MAGAZINE GHOST

That evening the boys had no end of fun teasing the girls.  That Dorothy and Tavia should have been so easily frightened, that Tavia should have “turned turtle,” as Ned put it, and that Dorothy “should have run under fire,” and left the coveted tree behind, seemed to the boys beyond explanation.

Listening to their telling of the affair, Major Dale became interested, and soon discovered that the old Mayberry Mansion, in Tanglewood Park, was none other than the former home of a veteran of the war, who had been in the same regiment with the major.

“I knew him well,” volunteered Dorothy’s father.  “He was a fine fellow, but always a little queer.  Seems to me he had a sister or step-sister.  Her name was—­Pumfret.  Yes, that was it.  I always thought it such a queer name, and many a time saw it written by the captain on his letters home.”

“And was he killed?” asked Tavia.  “Do you suppose it is his ghost that haunts the castle?”

This provoked a very gale of laughter, even little Roger considering it a great joke that Tavia should take the matter so seriously.

“Indeed, he was not killed,” replied the major.  “He had done good service and was made captain.  Seems to me the last I heard of him he was traveling abroad.”

“Then it’s Miss ‘Plumpet’s’ ghost,” declared Nat.  “I’m sure, Uncle Frank, you must have forgotten that name.  More likely to be Plumpet than Pumfret.”